Drabble and dribble
I have a whole seven hundred and thirty words written for my Spook Me story. It's not much, but it's a start, and at least now I think I have an actual *story* idea and structure in my head as opposed to an interesting concept. Progress. That's good because - deadline.
Have a drabble for The Sentinel. Blair in the helicopter in Murder 101.
Blair's flown before, been at the mercy of wind whipping through an open door to frigidly pluck at skin and hair, seen the ground an aeon's fall below, and he's never panicked like this, never despairingly grabbed for the nearest anchor; not a seat back or a strap, but the collar of Jim's jacket. He's humiliating them both but it doesn't matter; it doesn't matter that Jim's voice is sharp with anger and embarrassment. Blair's diving deep in his own fear, no going back to a time before. Who would have thought that so much air could feel like water?
Have a drabble for The Sentinel. Blair in the helicopter in Murder 101.
Blair's flown before, been at the mercy of wind whipping through an open door to frigidly pluck at skin and hair, seen the ground an aeon's fall below, and he's never panicked like this, never despairingly grabbed for the nearest anchor; not a seat back or a strap, but the collar of Jim's jacket. He's humiliating them both but it doesn't matter; it doesn't matter that Jim's voice is sharp with anger and embarrassment. Blair's diving deep in his own fear, no going back to a time before. Who would have thought that so much air could feel like water?